Raghav leaned back in his chair, a faint, knowing smile on his face.
"It was a test, right?"
Daisy met his gaze evenly. "What do you think?"
"Keep thinking," she replied calmly.
Raghav's smile softened. "You're right."
"She's too young," Daisy added quietly.
Raghav chuckled lightly. "Jealous? I'm twenty-eight. It could work. And honestly… how long am I supposed to stay single? I want to settle down someday. She's bright, capable, has that quiet strength. I've always been drawn to women who carry real confidence — the kind that commands a room without trying."
Daisy held his gaze for a long moment, saying nothing.
"She's going places," Raghav said thoughtfully. Then that familiar inner pull tugged at him again. "Excuse me."
He stood and left the office, heading for the lift.
Daisy remained at her desk, organizing a few folders as the lunch bell rang. The floor gradually emptied toward the cafeteria. She picked up her small lunch box and walked to the rooftop — her quiet escape.
On the roof, she sat near the edge (safely tucked back), opened her box, and took a bite. A soft voice interrupted.
"Can I sit here?"
Dizzy turned. Jiya stood there, holding her own lunch box, looking a little hesitant.
"Hey, Jiya," Dizzy said warmly. "Of course. It's a bit dusty, though."
"No problem at all." Jiya quickly wiped a spot clean and sat beside her.
They ate in comfortable silence for a minute.
Jiya glanced down at the city. "Aren't you afraid of heights?"
"Not really," Dizzy replied. "I come here for the peace. It helps clear my mind."
"You eat up here every day?"
"Only when Mr. Raghav isn't around to join me."
Jiya's curiosity showed. "You two eat together often?"
Dizzy gave a small shrug. "Sometimes. We just keep each other company. Breakfast too, once in a while — if he remembers I usually skip it."
"Hmm." Jiya nodded. Dizzy noticed her outfit. "I like the fishnets. When did you start wearing them?"
"A friend talked me into it. Said it would boost my confidence." Dizzy noded and said under her breath. " For me wearing them required confidence."
Jiya noriced, and asked if she said something. Which she immediately denied, not wanting to sound rude. Jiya tone turned sincere. "Daisy… I wanted to say sorry about earlier. My sister and I heard some silly office talk and shouldn't have repeated it. I felt bad thinking it might have bothered you."
Dizzy shook her head gently. "It's okay. Really. Rumours come and go — they don't bother me. Don't worry about it."
Jiya looked relieved. "Thank you. I was genuinely feeling guilty."
"No need," Dizzy said kindly. "It's already forgotten."
They ate quietly for a moment. Then Jiya spoke again, voice softer.
"Hey Daisy… do you think Mr. Raghav will like me?"
Dizzy froze mid-chew. A visible question mark seemed to pop above her head.
"Why?" she asked carefully.
"Huh?" Jiya blinked, caught off guard.
Dizzy swallowed. "I mean… why not. He'll definitely like you. He'd be a fool if he doesn't."
Jiya's face lit up. "Will you help me?"
More question marks multiplied in Dizzy's mind — floating, overlapping, growing like a cartoon storm cloud of confusion.
She blinked once. Twice.
"Of course I'll help you," she said, voice steady despite the swirling thoughts.
"Really?" Jiya asked, hope shining in her eyes.
"Really," Dizzy assured her, forcing a small smile while the question marks continued to multiply.
Then Jiya leaned in slightly. "Will you help get me a date with him?"
The question marks exploded — dozens now, swirling chaotically around Dizzy's head like a full-on punctuation hurricane. Confusion hit her full force: eyebrows raised, mouth slightly open, brain short-circuiting between professionalism, loyalty, surprise, and the sudden absurdity of the request.
She stared at Jiya for a long second, processing.
Then she exhaled softly, regaining composure. "Let's start with a proper introduction during a meeting or project first. We'll see how things go from there."
Jiya nodded eagerly, clearly satisfied.
They packed up their lunch boxes in silence. Dizzy stood first and headed for the stairs. Jiya followed a few steps behind.
As soon as Dizzy disappeared through the door, Jiya paused, wiped a quick hand across her eyes (though no real tears had fallen), and muttered under her breath with a small, satisfied smile:
"Idiot."
She tucked her lunch box under her arm and followed.
The Ashram – Realm of the Yugas
Raghav crossed the gate. His clothes shifted instantly — lighter blue kurta, simple wooden sandals — as if the place itself welcomed him properly. He called for the Pita-ma, but ni reply came. He found it strange but didn't paid it much mind.
He walked deeper, past white walls, through the Hall of Yugas, along quiet corridors, until he reached the four great doors. His eyes settled on Treta Yuga.
He pushed it open.
A deep calm washed over him. The faint, sacred chant of Om hummed softly in the air, like a heartbeat of peace. It felt like returning to something ancient and familiar.
"It feels… like home," he murmured.
Then a soft click behind him. The Dwapar Yuga door closed.
Raghav turned. The old man stood there, expression serious.
"Weren't you the one who told me not to open these doors?" Raghav asked.
"And yet here you are," the old man replied evenly.
Raghav tilted his head. "I was just standing in the doorway, feeling the air. You, on the other hand… looked like you were deep inside, probably meeting you family or something."
The old man's voice carried quiet authority. "Enough. Your duty is to preserve. Do not chase questions that distract you from your path."
Raghav studied him for a moment, maybe he don't understand modern sarcasm, which he often seems to possess. "Ok!" Said Raghav not wanting to get the magic wizards ire.
He stepped back from the door, the peace still settling in his chest — now mixed with questions he knew he wasn't ready to press.
He moved onward into a vast mountainous expanse. An empty carnival stretched before him — glowing rides, silent paths, no vendors, no visitors. Only stillness.
Raghav sensed a shift in the air. He approached an ice-cream stand, took a bar, and ate quietly.
Shadows began to gather — Chhaya-ratri figures appearing from the edges, circling slowly. He remained calm, waiting.
From their center stepped a man in dark robes, long beard, calm and steady eyes. The shadows parted respectfully.
The man sat beside Raghav without a word.
"Your name?" Raghav asked.
"Usually one offers theirs first," the man replied.
"True. I am Maharakshak. And you?"
The man regarded him thoughtfully. "No one has asked before. I am Mrityu. Born from ashes."
Raghav paused. "Mrityu… the strongest son of the one whose name echoes in silence."
"Kali Purush," Mrityu said simply. "But I serve no one. I serve only one truth."
"Which is?"
"Death," Mrityu answered. "The end that comes to all."
Raghav stood slowly. "Then let us see what truth you carry today."
"Sure, Maharakshak. I hope you prove wiser than the ones who came before you."
Raghav's eyes narrowed. "I see. You don't know me." Mrityu just smiled, and Raghav continued.
" I die a little every day. Who do you think you are?"
"Arrogance?" Said Mrityu. "It's not new in your line. I'll make sure you'll come out of it."
Raghav dropped into a fighting stance, every muscle taut. But before he could lunge, the old man's voice detonated inside his skull — raw and serious.
RUN.
The single word stop him. Raghav staggered half a step, confusion warring with instinct.
"What—?"
The Chhaya-ratri — those unbreakable shadows — suddenly broke and fled in every direction, dissolving into the dark like smoke before a storm.
Raghav's pulse hammered in his ears. "They're running… from me?"
Then something happens .
It wasn't gradual. It crashed over him like black water — thick, cold, alive. His skin prickled as if thousands of unseen eyes were staring from the emptiness. The glowing carnival lights flickered once, dimmed, flickered again. The air tasted metallic, like blood and rust. His chest tightened until each breath felt stolen.
And then — the slow, deliberate rustle of a page turning. Not in his ears. Inside his skull.
Mrityu held the black book open. His gaze was almost pitying.
"You should listen to your teacher. He is right. Run."
He tore the page.
The world ripped apart.
Raghav stood on a Mumbai street at gone near sea shore. The smell hit first, not sea but burning plastic, fuel, charred wood. Smoke rose, thick and choking. Invisible flame roared from the hotel's upper floors; shards of broken glass exploded outward, glittering arcs. Screams — distant but unmistakable — clawed at the edges of his hearing.
His head buzzed, sound and noises filled his head. He felt like it might crack. Cold sweat broke acrose his forehead. His hands tried to blocke the noises . His eyes become little hazy. The scenes striking him familiar. That beautiful building burning by the fanatical zeleots.
Mrityu stood beside him, calm as stone.
"26/11," he said quietly. "A date. But dates don't scream. They don't beg for air. They don't leave children without parents in seconds."
Raghav tried controling his buzzing head, and tried glaring at him, he tried calming his mind. He tried balancing himself. He looked at him, but couldn't say anything.
Mrityu's voice cut through the panic like a blade.
"Pain. Fear. Motive and Death. Four truths no name can contain."
Raghav tried standing up, but his knees buckled. He caught himself on one hand, palm scraping concrete like mud, he raw anger and strength . The ground was too real. The screams felt too real. Voices. They where still scrapping his head. His own heartbeat sounded like war drums in his ears.
He didn't care. He rushed cracking the concrete and headed straight towards Mrityu.
No matter what the place or what the magic. Fist can solve most of them.
Mrityu didn't dodge or evade. He stood there and calmly, tore another page.
Reality folded again — violently.
Now — silence. Absolute, crushing silence. Different from siren filed view before. Away from city, away from modern age.
A Bengal village in 1943.
Empty huts. Empty paths. Empty fields. No bodies. No blood. Only vulture, staring at him, in pure absence. Absence so profound that even the tiny bit noise felt sharp.
And that tiny voice grew.
Faint at first — than clearer.
Raghav struggled up, he looked around.
Sound, that faint sound, it was child's weak cry that faded before it finished. A child's last prayer swallowed by wind. Waiting for the footsteps that never arrived. The ghost of breathing that stopped forever.
Raghav's chest heaved. He couldn't draw air properly. He calmed his nerve the sudden doze of instant magic or whatever it was, it was messing with his head. A sense of suffocation and death filled his heard. He looked at the sky. And if previous image he saw was horrific, this was straight up hell.
The sky which should be filled with white cloud, was filled with thick black smoke so high, so up, so large and so much that it covered the entire sky.
His eyes reflacted it, he seems to feal it. Those where not the smoke of regular fire, they where the smoke of cremation. They where smoke coming from the dead bodies of the all who died.
Mrityu stood beside him, few steps back.
His hands where folded. He stood there calmly, not threatening, calm and sorrowful.
"Three million gone in a spame of few months. Twenty thousand a day. Not by fate. But by choice. Pain of watching your child starve while knowing grains you grew, ships past to foreign lands without even filling stomach of once that grew them. Fear of being the last heartbeat in your line. Motive — distant wars, distant greed. Death — patient. Patient as hunger."
He turned, he chest still heaving but his eyes blazed.
Mrityu met his eyes. Unflinched.
" Do you think you are saving someone? "
Sound of page tearing was heard.
Raghav turned and immediately dodged a falling building that was about to creash onto him.
He flew up, and what he saw shocked him. In front of him lay a broken city. Not broken by God, But by two mear mortal.
His eyes scaned the toppled buildings, burning streets and rising dust.
It was 2023, Battle between Carl and Krish, three years ago.
" Two mortals, holding a power that even God might envy. They have the power to end this era before any of our boss could so up." came the voice of Mrityu who was standing in air just ahead of him.
Raghav who was now adjusted his state, rushed ready to stop him, when the world shifted again with the sound of tearing page.
Now theh both were in a desert like place that was surrounded by small cliffs and sandy hills.
Raghav looked at Mrityu who was behind him.
Mrityu extended the black book.
"This is memory. No curse. Only truth. It may sting for a while, but you'll get used to it. It contain every man-made catastrophe since Kalyuga's dawn. Tear a page — see it all. You could purify it… but your guide will stop you."
Silence stretched, Raghav didn't answer, he rushed. His fist ready knock him out, when Mrityu sighs. And put the book back.
Raghav punch straight at his face but Mrityu just tilted slightly and than punched his straight into the stomach launching in the hills.
" Ask him." He said, voice calm.
"Why is he hiding your mother from you?"
The words landed, Raaghav heard them clearly.
The world contracted violently — shrinking inward until the edges pressed against Raghav's skin.
The weight of the word even it's lie was enough to make him pause, and pause is what Mrityu needed.
A brutal, invisible force slammed into him — not a fist, but the full weight of something invisible. He rocketed backward, crashing through hills and cliff, until he slammed into a big rocky mountain slope.
Dust and echoes swirled. Sound stone cracking filled his ears. Raghav pushed himself up, his legs shaking a little his, vision swimming.
Mrityu stood before him again — calm, unhurried.
"Ask him," Mrityu said, voice low calm.
" why your predecessor — the Maharakshak before you — stood silent when millions could have been saved from the end. Ask what laws bind even the preservers… and what they cost the innocent. You have the power to save, but stand there watching everything happen."
Another surge hit — sharper, deeper. Raghav flew forward, tumbling through air that felt thick as water. He crashed into a shallow river, cold current rushing over him. He staggered upright, soaked, trembling, every breath ragged.
Mrityu appeared again, closer now.
"You are different from the others," he said almost softly. "Arrogance, yes… but no hate, no prejudice. Not yet."
A wave of force rushed toward Raghav. He raised his arms instinctively — blue light flickered along his forearms — and blocked. The impact sent ripples across the water. He countered, shoving Mrityu back. The dark-robed figure vanished in a swirl of shadow, reappearing behind him.
Raghav sensed it — spun — blocked again. The clash sent him skidding across wet stone. He dug fingers into the earth to stop himself, rocks crumbling under his grip.
Mrityu advanced once more.
"You do not seek power for its own sake," he said. "Nor the physical thrill of dominance."
Another surge. Raghav met it head-on — hands locking with invisible energy. The force drove him back; ground cracked beneath his feet. Mrityu disappeared again.
"But—" The voice came from behind.
Raghav whirled.
"—you are terrified of death."
Raghav didn't like that sentence.
He rushed and landed a clear hit on him.
" Say that again." Mrityu crashed in the stone behind.
He didn't looked injured at all. Just slightly dusted.
" Are you sure? "
The illusion broke.
"Not yours," he whispered.
"Theirs."
The world flipped.
Raghav was back in the carnival — but now it burned. Rides twisted and collapsed in slow, horrifying motion. Screams echoed from every direction. Smoke choked the air. In his hand — instead of Mrityu — he held a bleeding civilian, eyes wide with terror.
He dropped the man instantly, stumbling back. The figure scrambled away in panic.
Crying pierced the already chaotic situation. Raghav turned his eyes filled with worry and panick— he saw a man trapped beneath a fallen ride, legs pinned, reaching desperately. Raghav lunged to help — but a woman threw herself in front of him, arms outstretched, face contorted in raw fear.
"Stay away!" she screamed. "Don't touch him! Spare him!"
Raghav froze. The scene spun around him — fire, ruin, pain, fear, death — all of it accusing. Every noise amplified: cracking metal, distant sirens, weeping, gasping breaths. His head spun. His chest seized. His head spun again.
The illusion was having an effect on him.
He screamed — a raw, broken sound torn from his core.
Blue light erupted from him in a blinding, protective wave. It swept outward like a tide, erasing the nightmare. The carnival snapped back — whole, silent, rides standing untouched.
No fire. No screams. No blood.
Mrityu was gone.
Raghav stood alone in the stillness, knees buckling. He dropped to one knee, hands braced on the ground, breathing in harsh, shuddering gasps. Sweat dripped down his face.
The fear lingered like smoke in his lungs: not gone, just quieter.
The old man's voice returned — firm, but laced with anger and worry.
"You were reckless."